


Leisure Sickness

by sahiya



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad Bingo 2019, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-29 01:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: It was called “leisure sickness,” Tony eventually learned. It happened to some people—usually workaholic perfectionists who didn’t sleep enough and pushed themselves way too hard.So... his kid, basically.





	1. Winter Break, Freshman Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "fever" square on my Irondad Bingo card. Thanks to Fuzzyboo for the beta!
> 
> Not technically in line with my "Carol snapped instead" universe, but definitely in the same spirit.

It was called “leisure sickness,” Tony eventually learned. It happened to some people—usually workaholic perfectionists who didn’t sleep enough and pushed themselves way too hard. 

(So... his kid, basically.)

Their bodies would put up with not enough food and not enough sleep and too much work, but at the first hint of downtime, they crumbled. Folded like a wet paper doll. 

Tony was familiar enough with the concept even before he knew there was an actual condition with a name and a couple of double-blind studies. It’d happened to both him and Pepper on occasion, the most memorable one being the time Pepper had passed out at a resort in the Azores and ended up having to be treated for an inner ear infection. Less dramatically, Tony had often spent the first three days of a vacation more asleep than awake, sometimes with mild flu-like symptoms. He’d never thought that much about it. 

Until Peter went away to college. 

***

The first time it happened was winter break Peter’s freshman year. Peter had arrived home the night before, and they were all scheduled to leave that day for a week at goddamn _Disney World_. Morgan had read about it somewhere and decided she had to go, and then it turned out that Peter had never been. Before Tony quite knew what had happened, he’d agreed to spend the entire week of Christmas with his nearest and dearest in the Happiest Fucking Place on Earth. 

In all fairness, it was less of a nightmare to arrange than he’d thought it would be. It’d been a long time since Tony Stark had set foot anywhere quite so relentlessly public, but Disney knew from VIP. If everything went the way it was supposed to, no one would ever know they were there. 

The morning of their departure was absolute chaos. Morgan was careening around the house in a costume that was part Belle and part Elsa, with Jessie’s cowgirl hat perched on top. Happy and May would be meeting them at the jet, which they still kept at the compound, two hours away. Tony wasn’t worried about it leaving without them, but they had a private lunch with Mickey and Minnie scheduled for one o’clock, and missing that would result in tears. 

“Is Peter up?” Pepper asked Tony in a harried tone as they passed each other in the upstairs hallway. 

“I think so,” Tony said, blinking. “But I haven’t seen him.”

“Can you check? We need to be out the door in an hour.”

“Shit,” Tony muttered. He had drastically underestimated what it took to get a five-year-old ready for Disney World. He was on the verge of declaring that they were all going as they were and buying new stuff when they got there, but he knew that Pepper wouldn’t be impressed by that idea. Neither would Peter, for that matter.

Tony didn’t actually think that Peter was still in bed, but he did suspect that he was hiding from the chaos. Not that he blamed him; he could hear Morgan belting “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” in the living room at top volume. For all her manifold talents, she could not carry a tune to save her sweet, sweet soul. Peter was probably in his room with his anti-hearing aids in. 

Tony knocked at Peter’s door. “Kid?” he called. No answer. He wished, not for the first time, that FRIDAY was ubiquitous here the way she had been at the compound. He knocked again, more loudly. “Peter?”

“Come in,” Peter replied faintly.

Tony opened the door and saw that Peter was sitting on the edge of his bed. “Pete? You ready? We’ve got to be out of here in about an hour.”

“Yeah,” Peter grunted. Tony frowned. Peter was still in his pajamas, and it didn’t look like he’d showered yet. “I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

Tony’s frown deepened. He stepped inside the room. “You don’t sound so great. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just... having some trouble getting going.” Peter flashed him a wan smile. “Too many late nights catching up with me, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Tony pressed his hand against Peter’s forehead. “You’re burning up, kid.” He took the biometrics tracker off his own wrist and wrapped it around Peter’s. “Hey FRI, what’s Peter’s temperature?”

“101.4, boss.”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “Kid, why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

“Because I’m not,” Peter said, visibly forcing himself to straighten up. “I just need to get up and going. I won’t make us late, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about us being late, I’m worried about _you_ ,” Tony said. “101.4 is a real fever. When was the last time you were sick?”

“It was... a while ago,” Peter said with a sigh. “I didn’t think I could even get sick anymore. But that just means I’ll get over it really fast.”

“Hmm,” Tony said, a little dubiously. The kid looked like hell, but he was probably right about the recovery time. “All right. You want some breakfast? Coffee?”

Peter grimaced, one hand stealing to his stomach. “No, I’m good. I’m just gonna shower.”

“Okay,” Tony said, even though he didn’t like the way Peter had paled when he’d mentioned food. “One hour, all right?” Peter nodded. Tony left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

The off-pitch concert had moved upstairs while Tony had been checking on Peter. Morgan was bouncing around her room like a pinball, singing bits and pieces of “How Far I’ll Go,” while Pepper closed up her suitcase and tried to convince her that she didn’t need to bring three stuffed animals with her. “You have to pick one, sweetie,” she said, raising her voice to get Morgan’s attention over her singing. “The others will all be here when you get back, I promise.”

Morgan broke off mid-phrase. “But I want to bring Stitch _and_ Fonty _and_ Lola!” Morgan turned her big, brown eyes on Tony. “Please, Daddy.”

“You heard Mom,” he said. “Just one. Grab a few books for the plane ride, too, okay?”

She heaved a sigh and looked carefully at each stuffed animal in turn. Finally she chose Fonty the elephant and put him in her backpack. Then she went to her bookshelf. “What’s ‘a few’?” she asked Tony.

“Three or four,” Tony said, suppressing a smile. “Not the whole bookshelf.”

“Is Peter up?’ Pepper asked, setting the little blue roller suitcase on the floor. 

“He is,” Tony said. “But he’s running a fever. I think he might have the flu.”

Pepper stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was.”

“Well...” Pepper put her hands on her hips. “Can he travel?”

“He says he’s fine to go, and that with his healing it’ll be short-lived.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t believe him.”

“I believe that it’ll be short-lived,” Tony replied. “But he looks pretty bad. I also don’t love the idea of us all being trapped in a plane with him for three hours. All we need is for everyone else to get sick on this vacation, too.” He glanced significantly at Morgan, who was still carefully going through her books and creating a stack to take with them. It would be deeply unpleasant for everyone if she got sick while they were away. 

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “So what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that if he actually is able to get showered and dressed and get his suitcase together like he swore he would, then he’s probably okay to travel. We can quarantine him a bit on the plane, and May and I can switch off keeping him company at the hotel for the next day or two while he recovers.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s happening. He hadn’t managed to stand up yet.”

“Crap. Okay. So in that case...”

“In that case, I think he and I stay here until he’s feeling better and then we come join you guys. I’m really sorry,” he added, when Pepper looked unhappy. 

“No, no, it makes sense, and I’ll have Happy and May with me, too. Speaking of, we’d better let May know what’s going on.”

“I will just as soon as we know for sure. In the meantime, go finish getting your stuff together. I’ll help Morgan with her backpack.”

“Thank you,” Pepper said, and kissed him before leaving.

Tony glanced at Morgan and suppressed a smile. ‘Three or four’ books had turned into eight or ten. “Okay, my little bookworm, I think that’s enough. Let’s see how many of those we can fit into your backpack. Don’t forget that Fonty has to fit, too, and we don’t want to squish him so he can’t breathe.” He held the backpack open and she started stuffing things in. “Did you hear what Mom and I were saying?”

“Yeah. Peter’s sick.”

“That’s right. So he and I might have to start our vacation a couple days later. If that happens, can you promise you’ll be really good for Mom and Uncle Happy and Aunt May?”

She nodded. “I’ll be _super_ good.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” Tony kissed the top of her head. “All right, I think six books is all you’re fitting in there.” He zipped the backpack shut. “Now test it out.” She put it on, and he helped her adjust the straps. “Too heavy?” She shook her head. “Good. I think you’re all set.” Which made for one out of four of them.

Miraculously, Tony and Pepper’s suitcases joined Morgan’s in the foyer with ten minutes to spare. Pepper was taking one last SI related phone call, and Morgan was singing along to the end of the _Frozen_ in the living room. Peter still hadn’t emerged.

Tony knocked on the door lightly, then eased it open. The bedroom was empty, but the light in the bathroom was on. “Kid? You ready?” he asked. 

Faint movement came from the bathroom. Peter groaned. “Yeah, just... give me a second...”

Well, that did not sound great. 

Peter, still in his pajamas, was slumped on the floor of the bathroom in front of the toilet. He was pale and sweaty, trying to struggle to his feet but not having a lot of luck. “I’m okay,” he said, “Just help me get dressed. I never unpacked, so I just have to stuff my pajamas back in the bag.”

“Peter...”

“I’m okay, I swear. It’s just a bug that was going around the dorm.”

“Pete...”

“I can do this,” Peter insisted. “I can, I can––” The color drained out of his face and he lunged for the toilet. He started retching painfully.

Tony winced. He sat on the edge of the bathtub next to Peter, reaching out to press a hand between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay, Pete,” he said, rubbing lightly. “I’ve got you. FRI, can I get a temperature check?”

“102.1, boss.”

Peter groaned and tried to say something, but he couldn’t get it out in between spasms. Tony kept rubbing his back. When it sounded like it was tapering off, he got up and wet a cloth in the sink. He crouched down next to Peter—ignoring the _snap, crackle, pop_ of his joints—and wiped his face with the cloth. Tellingly, Peter let him. 

“Kid, I don’t think you’re going anywhere today,” Tony said gently. 

“I’m, I can...”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Tony pushes the hair off Peter’s forehead. Peter looked up at him with watery, red-rimmed eyes, looking deeply betrayed. “Hang tight here, all right?”

Tony went out to the living room. Pepper had convinced Morgan to turn off the TV, and they were both waiting for him with their coats in their arms. 

Pepper took one look at Tony and sighed. “How bad?”

“Puking his guts out,” Tony replied, echoing her sigh. “Sorry, Pep. I’m sure we won’t be more than a day or two.”

“We’ll be fine,” Pepper said. “Right, Morgan?”

Morgan frowned in displeasure but nodded. “Peter can have my chocolate pudding,” she told Tony seriously. 

“Thanks, kiddo.” Tony decided not to tell her that Peter definitely did not want chocolate pudding right then.

Tony walked them out to the car. He helped get Morgan settled in her booster seat and made her promise him that she wouldn’t have _all_ the fun without him. He kissed Pepper and told her to text him when they got to the compound. “Take a multivitamin,” she told him as she climbed into the driver’s side. “You don’t want to get sick, too, if you can help it.”

“Will do. Travel safe.” He kissed her one last time and waved them off as they left. Then he hurried back inside, because it was freezing and he’d been too stubborn to grab a coat on his way out.

Back inside the warmth of the house, he actually did take a multivitamin and drank a glass of water, while texting May to let her know what was going on. Then he dug a can of ginger ale out of the cupboard and cracked it open, pouring it into a glass with some ice.

Peter was throwing up again when Tony came back in. Tony sat on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing his back some more. When he finished, he slumped away from the toilet, and Tony grabbed the damp cloth from where he’d draped it over the towel rack. “How you doing, kiddo?” he asked, wiping Peter’s face off again.

Peter sniffled, and Tony realized that some of the tears were actual tears. “I thought... I heard the car leave...”

Tony frowned. “You didn’t think I’d left, did you?”

“Not really,” Peter mumbled. And then, “Maybe. I’m so gross right now. And we were supposed to leave this morning, and... I don’t know,” he finished, voice cracking. “Disney World’s probably more fun than wiping tears and snot off my face.”

“Not so much snot yet. Mostly just tears.”

Peter sniffled again, and Tony grimaced. “Sorry.” He lowered himself to sit on the floor next to Peter and sat back against the bathtub. “I should have made sure you knew I’d be back.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “You shouldn’t have to... miss a family trip... just because I’m––” He gagged, reaching for the toilet, and just barely made it. This time, he kept heaving even after he stopped bringing anything up, and then he basically collapsed, too weak to hold himself up. Tony pulled him into his arms, holding him gently against his chest. 

“Neither of us is missing the trip,” Tony told him, while Peter tried to catch his breath. “With your healing factor, you’ll be up and about tomorrow or the next day, and we can catch up with the others. I’ll be honest, a whole week at Disney World sounded like a lot. Shaving a couple of days off the front end isn’t a hardship. But don’t tell Pepper or Morgan I said that.”

Peter snorted a very weak laugh. He turned his face, burrowing into Tony’s chest. “Hurts,” he groaned, muffled. 

“I know, kid,” Tony whispered, brushing Peter’s hair back. “I’m sorry. We’ll try to get a painkiller into you in a bit, all right?”

Peter went very quiet, resting against him. Tony would’ve let him stay there as long as he wanted, but his middle-aged back eventually started to protest. He was relieved when Peter finally stirred. “Think it’s safe to move,” he mumbled.

“Thank God,” Tony sighed, and shoved himself to his feet with a groan. He helped Peter up and kept a firm grip on him as they shuffled back into the bedroom. Peter collapsed into bed, rolling onto his side and barely helping as Tony pulled the covers over him. “Want me to stay or go?” Tony asked. 

Peter looked up at him. “I... you don’t have to...”

“Kid,” Tony said firmly 

“Stay, please,” Peter whispered, sounding utterly miserable. 

“You got it.” Tony stretched out across the unoccupied half of the bed. Peter shifted closer, until Tony could put his arm around him, tucking him into his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Peter’s forehead. “You want to watch something? Or listen to something?”

“ _Queer Eye_ ,” Peter mumbled. 

Tony sighed. “Again? Okay, okay,” he agreed, when Peter grumbled. “ _Queer Eye_ it is.”

“You can turn it to whatever you want after I fall asleep.” Peter yawned. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, kiddo. Sleep all you want, all right? Though––shit,” Tony said, realizing that he’d never actually gotten Peter to drink the ginger ale. “You should have some fluids first.” He extricated himself, ignoring Peter’s protests, and went to fetch the ginger ale from where he’d left it in the bathroom. “Come on, just a few sips, kid,” he said, seating himself on the edge of the bed. 

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can try,” Tony replied. “Small sips. You need to stay hydrated.”

Peter managed a few small sips, and he even braved swallowing one of the spider-friendly painkillers Bruce had cooked up for him. Tony had to steady the glass because Peter’s hand was shaking. Tony didn't push him when he turned his face away, pressing his lips together. Poor kid. Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen him so completely flattened. 

They’d just gotten comfortable again when Peter’s phone started buzzing. Peter looked like he could barely move, so Tony reached over him and fetched it off his nightstand. “It’s your aunt.”

“Oh,” Peter said, and took it from him. “Hi May,” he mumbled. “Yeah... yeah... no, Tony’s here... yeah, I guess that’s the plan... yeah... yeah... okay, love you, too.” He held the phone up for Tony. “She wants to talk to you.”

Tony took the phone. “Hi May.” 

“Hey Tony,” she replied. “How’s he doing? He sounds pretty rough.”

“We’re hanging in there,” Tony said. “I’ve got money on his super immune system kicking this virus’s ass by tomorrow at the latest.”

“He probably hasn’t been sleeping or eating enough,” she sighed. “All right, call me if you need me, and we’ll see you guys soon.”

“Will do,” Tony said, and disconnected. He set the phone aside and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, rubbing lightly. The kid already looked mostly asleep. “You want a little more ginger ale?”

“Mmm, in a bit,” Peter replied, tucking his face into Tony’s side again. “Gonna sleep now.”

“You do that, kid,” Tony said, settling in against the headboard. “I’ll be here.”

Peter slept off and on for the rest of the day, waking up only to drink more ginger ale or eat some soup. To Tony’s immense relief, there was no more puking, and his fever started to drop once he got some food and fluids into him. By that evening, he mostly just seemed run down and tired. 

They spent the evening on the sofa, watching old episodes of _Parks and Rec_. Peter was clingier than he usually let himself be, curling up against Tony, laying his head first on his shoulder and then later on his lap––maybe because he didn’t feel well, but possibly because this was the first time they’d been on their own in a while. Tony knew how much Peter adored Morgan––and Pepper, for that matter––but he wondered if Peter had been secretly wishing for a bit more one-on-one time.

The next morning, Peter stumbled into the kitchen, where Tony was making pancakes. He was sporting ridiculous bedhead and still blinking tiredly, but he looked about a thousand times better than he had the night before. He poured himself a cup of coffee and then wandered over to lean on Tony and watch him flip pancakes. 

“How you doing, kiddo?” Tony asked. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, sipping his coffee. 

“Better enough to brave the hoards at Disneyland?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, but he sounded, to Tony’s ear, a little reluctant. Tony turned to look at him. Peter hid his face behind his mug, and Tony turned back to flip a pancake over before it burned. “You still look a little pale to me,” he said. “How about I tell them to expect us tomorrow morning?”

“Oh,” Peter said, eyes widening, “you don’t––I’m sure you’re dying to see Morgan and––”

“Pete,” Tony stopped him. “They’re doing fine without us. Look.” He pulled his phone out and showed Peter the photo that Pepper had taken that morning of Morgan, clad in mouse ears and the biggest grin Tony had ever seen, reaching up to shake Elsa’s hand. “Pepper said she’s barely noticed I’m not there. I’ll file a flight plan for us for tomorrow morning, which will get us in with plenty of time for all the pre-Christmas activities we can possibly stand.”

For a second or two, Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he just nodded, smiling a little sheepishly. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Tony said, flipping the last pancake onto the plate. “But if you really want to make it up to me, you can start eating and sleeping when you’re away at school. As much as I’m enjoying this little vacation from our vacation, I don’t love watching you puke your guts out.”

“Got it,” Peter said, a little sheepishly. “I’ll try to do better.”

“That’s all I ask, kid. Grab the syrup, will you?”

Peter grabbed the syrup––and the jam, because he was a weirdo who liked jam on his pancakes––and they sat down at the kitchen table, with a veritable mountain of pancakes between them. Tony sipped his cup of coffee and watched him dig in with enthusiasm. 

He could have done without yesterday for sure, Tony reflected. But this part? This part was pretty okay.


	2. Spring Break, Freshman Year

The second time it happened was on Peter’s spring break, four months later. 

Tony had faked being not-disappointed pretty well, he thought, when Peter had told him he wasn’t coming home for it. He and Ned and MJ were going to meet in New Orleans and spend half their time doing a service project with Habitat for Humanity and half their time doing what everyone who went to New Orleans did––listening to live music and eating delicious, ridiculous food. And, Tony assumed, getting drunk. 

(Tony definitely was not sharing any of his own New Orleans stories, none of which were even remotely PG-13. He worried less about giving Peter and his nerdy friends bad ideas than he did about retroactively disappointing a kid he hadn’t even met at the time.)

Tony had told Peter that sounded like a great spring break and booked the three of them a hotel suite in the French Quarter that was much nicer than what they’d have booked for themselves but not so nice that it’d make them uncomfortable. Then he’d gone and sulked to May and Pepper about how his kid was growing up and that meant that sometimes, he didn’t come home on break. Tony got that, but he was used to Peter wanting to spend time with him, and this was the first time he’d chosen not to. They’d both just laughed at him. 

Peter texted dutifully the night he flew into New Orleans to let Tony and May know that he’d made it safely. Tony honestly didn’t expect to hear from him much after that. Peter had called and texted a lot his first semester, but it’d tapered off in the first half of his second. Tony knew that was a good sign, but the truth was that he was having trouble adjusting. May was handling it much better, to his chagrin. 

All in all, he was surprised when he woke up the next morning to a text from Peter. 

_Can you send my painkillers by drone?_

Tony snorted out a very quiet laugh. It sounded like the kid’s trip had started off with a bang. _Why?_ he wrote back. _Was the mighty Spiderman felled by one too many Hurricanes?_

 _Not hungover_ , came the reply. _Sick. Pls?_

Tony frowned. He extricated himself from the bed, careful not to disturb Pepper, and took his phone downstairs so he could call Peter. 

Peter picked up on the second ring. “Hi,” he said, in a weak, thin voice. 

“Yikes, kid. Are you okay?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m dying,” Peter replied. “I forgot to pack my painkillers. Please, Tony.”

Like Tony would ever say no to his kid when he was in pain. Even if it meant using a high tech surveillance and defense system as glorified Amazon delivery. “Yeah, of course,” Tony said, and switched Peter over to speaker so he could place the order via FRIDAY. The drone would leave from the compound with Peter’s painkillers within the hour. “They’re on their way, should be there by lunchtime.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. 

“You didn’t mention you were sick when you texted last night.”

“I wasn’t. Woke up feeling like shit this morning. Sore throat, headache, achey. I don’t have a thermometer, but I feel like I have a fever. I can’t get warm.”

“You do have a thermometer, you’ve got a whole biometrics tracker in the wristband of your watch, remember?” Tony had made him his own when he’d realized Peter only had the one in the suit. It synced to an app on Tony’s phone, too, but he’d learned that it was best to give Peter at least the illusion of privacy, except in emergencies.

“Oh. Yeah. Um.” There was a pause while Peter presumably checked it. “101.9. Ugh.”

Tony whistled. “Damn, kid, you have bad luck with vacations.”

“Tell me about it.” Peter sighed. “Ned and MJ already left to go build houses for the day. I couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Wait, you’re alone?” Tony said, frowning. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay.” Peter coughed. “I’m just gonna sleep.”

“You need to make sure you’re eating and drinking enough.”

“I’m fine. I just need the painkiller.” Peter’s voice was muffled, and Tony could easily imagine him shoving his face into the pillow. 

“Hey, Pete, don’t go to sleep just yet. Did the hotel give you any bottled water?”

“Yeah, but it’s super expensive. Like eight dollars for one bottle.”

“Peter, I am a literal billionaire, I will pay for your bottled water. Go get one, all right?”

Peter groaned and grumbled but he did it while getting up and going to get a bottle of water. He switched the call over to video chat and held it up in front of the camera. “Happy?” he said, climbing back into bed. 

“No, I’m Tony,” Tony joked, which didn’t even earn him a pity laugh. Peter just glared. “Yes, very happy,” Tony amended, not reacting to the kid’s surly expression or tone. Peter was sick and on his own in an unfamiliar city. He got to be a little surly. “Drink a little of it before you go back to sleep, okay?”

Peter cracked the bottle open and took a sip. He took another one and leaned back against his pillows. He looked fairly pathetic, though not quite as bad as when he’d gotten sick at Christmas. “That does taste good,” he admitted. He sighed. “I wish I had some tea.”

“Room service probably has it,” Tony pointed out. “Soup, too, I bet.”

“It’s so expensive...”

“See my previous remark about being a literal billionaire.”

Peter still looked reluctant. Tony bit back a sigh. “Never mind. Just drink your water and take a nap. _Do not_ do any homework, all right? I’ll check in with you in a couple hours.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Peter protested. “It’s just a bug. I’m fine.”

“I can’t not worry about you, kid,” Tony said. “I’d do it whether I wanted to or not. But I _do_ want to, in case it wasn’t clear.” Truthfully, he was tempted to use the suit to fly down there, just to make sure Peter was okay. He didn’t like the idea of him in a hotel room all by himself. But he knew that that would be overkill, and that Peter probably wouldn’t thank him for it. 

“Yeah, s’what May says, too,” Peter sighed. “Ugh. I feel so crappy.”

“I know, Pete. Go to sleep. I’ll ping you when the drone gets close.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter mumbled. 

They disconnected. Tony pulled up the drone tracker and saw that it had already left the compound. “FRI, tell me when it’s a hundred miles out from Peter’s location.”

“Yes, boss.”

Satisfied, Tony slipped his phone inside his pocket and went inside to start breakfast.

FRIDAY pinged him three hours later, while he and Morgan were hanging out in the garage. Morgan was working on building her first circuit board; Tony had one eye on her while he played with modifications for Sam’s suit. 

“Boss, the drone is about a hundred miles and twenty minutes out from Peter.”

“Thanks, FRI. Call him for me, please.” He ruffled Morgan’s hair. “Want to talk to Pete?”

“YES!” she yelled and nearly fell off her stool. He righted her as the sound of ringing filled the small garage. 

“Tony?” Peter answered, sounding bleary and tired. 

“Hey kid, drone is incoming, about twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Hi Peter!” Morgan said cheerfully. 

“Hey, Morgan,” Peter said, clearly trying to inject a little life into his voice for her. “You hanging out with your dad?”

“Uh huh. I’m working on my circuit board.”

“Sounds like fun, kiddo. Wish I was there.”

“Me too,” Morgan agreed.

“You feeling any better, Pete?” Tony asked. 

“Not really. The painkillers will help.” He coughed. “Ugh, I’m going to have to get up, aren’t I?”

“Unless you want it breaking the window,” Tony said. “Maybe you should eat something while you’re up.”

“I don’t have anything but a packet of Sour Patch Kids I bought at the airport yesterday.”

“Yeah, definitely don’t eat that. What do you want? I’m pulling up the room service menu for the hotel, or I could get something delivered.” Tony flipped through the menu on his phone, looking for anything a sick kid might eat. Their only soups were clam chowder and French onion. Tony made a face and pulled up the Seamless app.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, you need to eat. Chicken soup okay? Looks like there’s a place near the hotel that’ll deliver. Do you have a fridge and microwave in the room? I can get you a couple of quarts.”

“Um. Yeah. There’s a mini fridge. But... but you don’t have to...”

“Just let me, kid,” Tony said. 

“Yeah, just let him,” Morgan chimed in. “He’s been a worrywort all morning.”

Peter gave a weak laugh. “Can’t have that. Okay, Tony, thanks.”

Tony flashed Morgan a thumbs up. She started telling Peter about the circuit board she was building while Tony placed the order and also had FRIDAY contact the hotel and tell them to take it up. He didn’t want Peter to have to get dressed and go down to the lobby to get it. 

“You still have a fever?” Tony asked, once all that was done. 

“Yeah. It’s, uh, 102.1 now. Not that much higher. I just... I can’t get warm and my skin feels all weird. The sheets feel scratchy, even though they were fine last night.” Peter sighed. “I miss my bed.”

“Yeah, being sick away from home sucks.”

“It really does.”

They kept Peter company on the phone until the drone arrived a few minutes later. He took two of the painkillers and drank the rest of the overpriced bottle of water. The soup showed up soon after, and Tony decided they could leave him to it. “Get some rest. I’ll call you later this afternoon. And drink that other water bottle, okay? Literal billionaire here.”

Peter gave a quiet laugh. “I will. Thanks, Tony.” 

Knowing that his kid had painkillers and food made it a little easier to concentrate on other things. He helped Morgan with a bit of soldering on her circuit board, and then they went up to the house for lunch. He got a text from Peter of an empty bowl and a half empty quart of soup. He sent back a thumbs up, relieved. 

“So you’re not flying to New Orleans,” Pepper said when he relayed this information. 

“No,” Tony said. “I thought about it, don’t get me wrong. But the kid’ll probably be fine by tomorrow, and he wouldn’t appreciate me showing up like that.”

“That’s... admirably restrained of you,” Pepper said. “Also, I need you to text that to May.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she and I had a bet going about whether you’d end up flying down there or not, and I won. Which, quite honestly, I didn’t expect to.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m not that overprotective.”

“No, but you were that upset about not seeing Peter over his break.”

Tony had to concede the point. “I’m trying. It’s just hard.”

“I know, hon.” She kissed him and got up to refill the pitcher of water on the table. “Text May!”

Tony texted May, who expressed both disbelief and pride. Tony wondered when the hell he’d become the clingy, overbearing parent, and then remembered Instant Kill mode and decided it was possible he’d always been this way. It was just more obvious now that Peter wasn’t jumping at every chance to spend time with him.

He knew that was the way it should be. So much of parenthood was about letting go and trusting your kid to make good decisions. He trusted Peter. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard. 

Tony’s phone stayed quiet throughout the afternoon. According to the biometrics tracker, Peter’s heart rate was in the high fifties, where it tended to stay when he was asleep and not having nightmares. Pepper had a conference call, so Tony and Morgan took the kayak out to look for birds. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, still too cool for swimming but with a certain softness in the air that hinted at summer.

He tried not to think about how few days like this they had left. Morgan would be going to school full-time next year, and they’d be moving back to the city at least nine months out of the year. They’d skipped kindergarten this year, but Pepper was adamant that she have as much of a normal school experience as humanly possible. It’d be a fancy private school with lots of security, but it’d still be school. And no more skipped grades, they’d already decided. Tony had skipped three, and it had fucked him up. Peter—despite being just as smart—hadn’t skipped any, and the difference was palpable. The kid was still working out the teenage awkwardness but he was way more well-adjusted than Tony had ever been. If Morgan got bored, she had her pick of resident geniuses to supplement her education. 

But that was all still months away, he reminded himself as they paddled along the shoreline, looking to see if the family of ducks from last summer had returned yet. For now, he had the lake and Morgan and a sunny afternoon. The only thing that would’ve made it better was Peter, and they still had the whole summer ahead of them. 

They got back about four o’clock. Morgan grabbed a juice pop and ran off to play on her own in her tent. Tony went inside and texted Peter to see if he was awake. 

His phone rang almost immediately. “Hey,” Peter greeted him, sounding significantly better. 

“Hey, kid,” Tony said, sprawling out in one of the deck chairs. “You sound much less like you're about to keel over.”

“Yeah. The painkillers really helped.”

“How’s your fever?” Tony asked, as though he didn’t have access to that information himself.

“About 101.” He yawned. “Might have some more soup in a bit. MJ and Ned texted me. I guess a bunch of the Habitat for Humanity people are going out later.”

“Do _not_ go drinking with a fever,” Tony said sternly. “It’s a terrible idea. Trust me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Peter said, sounding bemused. “Why does it sound like you’ve actually done that?”

“Because I made the worst choices, kid, that’s why.”

“O-kay,” Peter said slowly. “Anyway, I think they’re just getting dinner. They wanted to know if I needed anything. But I told them you’d been taking care of me from a thousand miles away.”

Tony couldn’t suppress a smile. “Not too much?”

“I mean, you wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t too much. But it wasn’t too much too much. It was just enough too much.”

“My sweet spot,” Tony agreed. 

Peter was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “I miss you. Wish I was home.”

“I miss you, too, kiddo. But you’ll be feeling better tomorrow, and you’ll still have most of the week left.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I know. But, um... I have a couple days free on the other end. I was supposed to fly into Boston and just hang out for a bit. Could... can I come up to the house instead?”

Tony’s breath caught. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound too affected. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, kid, of course. Morgan’s going to be so excited.”

“Well, I’m glad _Morgan_ is going to be excited,” Peter said wryly. 

It was possible that Tony hadn’t been as cool about everything as he’d thought. “I might be pretty happy about it, too,” he admitted a little grudgingly. Peter gave a soft laugh. “Anyway, yeah, I’ll change your ticket. Or just send Happy with the jet.”

“Either sounds good.” Peter yawned. “I’m going to try and sleep a bit more before Ned and MJ get back. Try and kick this thing for good by tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan. Text me if you need me.”

“I will.” Peter hesitated ever so slightly. “Love you, Tony.”

“Love you, too, kid.” Tony disconnected and just sat there, smiling to himself. His kid. He just... couldn’t. 

The next morning, Tony woke up to another text from Peter. It was a photo of him standing between Ned and MJ with their arms around each other, all of them looking sweaty and happy in the New Orleans sunshine, mugging for the camera in their bright green Habitat for Humanity shirts. Below the picture Peter had written, _Thanks for everything yesterday. See you soon!_

 _Anytime, kid_ , Tony replied. _Can’t wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for characters giving each other long distance TLC (possibly because I've spent much of my adult life living 3+ time zones away from my own family). Underrated trope, IMO.


	3. Summer, Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading!

The third time, Tony would’ve seen it coming, except that Peter had been on break for several weeks already. He’d come back to New York after his first year at MIT, perfect grades in hand, and started a real Stark Industries internship in R&D. He’d also begun patrolling nightly again as Spiderman, and on weekends he generally headed up to the compound to train with Sam, Bucky, and whoever else was around. Tony hadn’t seen nearly as much of him as he wanted, though if he was at the compound he usually drove up to the house on Saturday evening and stayed over until Sunday morning.

In retrospect, this was probably not a significant break from finals week pressure.

The second week of June, Tony rented a house in Malibu, not far from where his old house had been before it got blown up and dropped into the sea. The property was smaller than his old one, but it had a main house and two guest cottages and came with a private beach, a discreet housekeeping service, a swimming pool and spa, and a boat. 

It was currently owned by the CEO of a recently failed start-up who was looking to make some quick cash by selling his second home in Malibu. Tony and Pepper hadn’t told anyone yet, but they were thinking about buying it. Pepper loved the West Coast. Tony would have been happy to never leave the lake house, but he loved making Pepper happy. The next two weeks were something of a test run. If it worked out, Tony planned on making the owner an offer he couldn’t refuse. 

Peter got in before anyone else, flying commercial via a stopover in Boston, where he’d interviewed for a job in a lab run by one of Bruce’s old colleagues. He’d texted Tony the night before to let him know that he’d arrived safely. By the time Tony, Morgan, and Pepper arrived early the next morning, he’d been there for about twelve hours. 

Morgan bolted off the jet the first moment it was safe, running into the house and yelling, “PEEEEEEEEEETERRRRRRRRR!” as though she hadn’t seen him in weeks. “Ground floor, Morgan!” Tony called––at least, he was pretty sure that the room that Morgan had convinced Peter to share with her was on the ground floor. If Tony and Pepper bought the place, they’d each have their own rooms, but Morgan had been very taken by the idea of bunk beds, and Peter, for some reason, had agreed to indulge her.

Pepper and Tony followed her in, dropping their bags in the foyer, which had three story tall ceilings with enormous windows that looked out onto the ocean. It was surely a sign of some sort of inner growth that Tony actually felt that while it was objectively stunning, it was also a bit... excessive. It made him miss the cozy simplicity of the lake house. 

It was early enough that Tony was pretty sure Peter was still going to be in bed, and Tony went after Morgan to make sure she didn’t startle him into smacking her in the face. He caught up with her just in time to see her jump onto the lower bunk where Peter was sleeping. “Peter, wake up!” she yelled and landed on his stomach.

Peter gasped, curling up into a ball, causing Morgan to tumble off to the side. She popped up, undeterred. “What the––what is happening?” he managed.

“Hurricane Morgan,” Tony said, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off the bed. “Sorry, kid. Hope you enjoyed your one night of solitude.”

“I did,” Peter said. He sounded a little strange. Tony set Morgan on the floor, and Peter pushed himself up on one arm. 

Morgan immediately jumped back on the bed, this time on her hands and knees. “Peter! What should we do first? We could go swimming or look for tide pools. Daddy made these special kits so we can test the ocean and _do science_!”

Peter looked bewildered. Tony decided it was time to intervene. “Morguna, I don’t think Peter is fully awake yet, and he hasn’t had coffee or breakfast. Let’s give him a couple of minutes before we start planning a minute-by-minute itinerary.”

She heaved a sigh. “O-kay.”

“You want to go explore the rest of the house and report back?” Tony asked. 

From the pout she gave him, Morgan clearly did _not_ want to. But Tony raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed again, dramatically. “Fine. But I wanna go swimming later.”

“We will go swimming later,” Tony promised. “Once we’ve all had breakfast. But we should save the science kit for when Bruce gets here, because I bet he’ll want to do it with you.”

She brightened immediately at the reminder that Bruce was coming and scampered off without any sign of her earlier reluctance. Tony turned back to face his other kid, who was sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Sorry about that,” Tony said. “You okay?”

“Um. I think so,” Peter said slowly. 

Tony frowned. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “What does that mean?”

“It means I feel kind of weird. Kind of... sick. And shaky.”

“That could be low blood sugar,” Tony pointed out. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

“I had a snack when I got in last night,” Peter said. “But I haven’t had a real meal for probably fifteen hours?”

“Okay, so let’s get some food in you and see if that helps,” Tony said. “Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, but he didn’t move to stand up. After a moment, Tony offered him his hand and he took it, letting Tony leverage him up. He didn’t let go once he was standing. 

“Pete?” Tony said, and watched with alarm as Peter’s eyes went unfocused and all the blood drained out of his face. That was all the warning Tony had before Peter’s knees gave way. “Oh shit,” Tony blurted out, and just barely caught him before he hit the ground. He eased him back onto the bed, relieved when Peter didn’t topple over. “Head between your knees, kid,” Tony said, pushing Peter’s head down. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Peter moaned. 

Tony lunged for the wastebasket in the corner and shoved it between Peter’s knees. “FRIDAY, give me Peter’s temp and BP.”

FRIDAY’s voice came through the Bluetooth speaker in Tony’s ear. “His temperature is 101.4, and his BP is eight-nine over fifty-five. That is well below Peter’s normal range.” 

Tony put his hand on the back of Peter’s neck. It was damp with sweat. “Your blood pressure is tanking and you’re running a fever, Pete.”

“Um,” Peter said, and stopped, drawing a deep, shaky breath, like he was trying not to throw up. “I was fine last night,” he managed to get out at last. 

“Well, you’re not fine now.” Tony sat down beside Peter on the bed and put an arm around his shoulders. “Do you feel like you can stand up? We should probably get you to a bathroom if we can.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Peter swallowed hard. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. But Bruce will be here soon. I think we should have him take a look at you.”

Peter didn’t argue, just nodded dizzily. Tony found that more alarming than anything else, given how resistant he was to medical attention most of the time. He whipped out his phone back out and shot Bruce a text, letting him know what was going on. 

Pepper knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Hey, you two, what are you––oh no. Again?”

“Yep,” Tony said, rubbing the back of Peter’s neck gently. “Can you keep Morgan away for a little while?”

“Of course,” she said. “Peter, what do you need? I think I saw some ginger ale in the pantry. Or I’m sure there’s tea.”

“Ginger ale, please,” he replied, lifting his head weakly. “Thanks, Pepper.”

She left. Tony eased him back and helped him lie down on his side. He set the trash can beside the bed. “This is right here, okay, kiddo?” Peter mumbled a vague response. Tony frowned and went into the ensuite, where he found and wet a washcloth. He draped it over Peter’s eyes.

Peter sighed. “That’s really nice.” 

“You feeling a little better?” Tony asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed. He was glad that the lower bunk was a double, or he’d have had to duck his head to avoid smacking it on the upper bunk. 

“Horizontal is good. Really, really good.”

“Then stay where you are.”

Pepper returned with ginger ale in a glass with ice. “Thanks, Pep,” Tony said. 

She gave him a rueful smile. “Feel better, Peter,” she said, and left, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. 

Tony propped Peter up a little, just enough so he could sip on the ginger ale without spilling it on himself. His hand was shaking a little, so Tony found himself steadying the bottom of the glass. 

Peter looked a little better after a few sips. He probably did have low blood sugar, in addition to the fever and low blood pressure. Tony felt comfortable taking his hand away. His phone buzzed while Peter was continuing to sip slowly at the glass, and he pulled it out of his pocket. 

_Rhodey and I are in transit in the Quinjet, ETA 1 hr 15 min,_ , Bruce had written. _This has happened to him before, hasn’t it?_

 _3x this year,_ Tony replied, glancing over at Peter. He looked like he was zoning out, but the ginger ale was cradled securely against his chest between sips. _Every time the kid gets a break, he gets sick._

 _Sounds like he’s prone to leisure sickness_ , Bruce said. _We can talk about it more when I get in. Does he have painkillers?_

“Do you have your painkillers on you?” Tony asked Peter. 

“Oh––yeah,” Peter said. “I learned my lesson after New Orleans.”

 _We’re good_ , Tony wrote. _Fly safe. See you soon._

Tony retrieved Peter’s painkillers from his bag, but Peter shook his head when Tony offered them to him. “Still kind of queasy.” He drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I kind of feel like it has to be, somehow,” Peter muttered, looking away. 

Tony frowned at him. “You’re sick, Pete. You’ve got a fever. I don’t see how that is possibly your fault.”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighed. “It just keeps happening, though, doesn’t it?”

“Bruce had a name for it. He called it ‘leisure sickness.’”

Peter blinked in bemusement. “There’s a _name_ for it?”

“Apparently.” Tony typed it into his phone and glanced over the articles it brought up. “Pretty much exactly what it sounds like. You get some downtime and you get sick. It happens to a lot of workaholics, according to this study. And, I mean, it’s not like it’s never happened to me,” he added, glancing up at Peter. “Just not so consistently.”

“Do they say how to cure it?”

“I don’t really think it’s the type of thing you can cure,” Tony said. “It’s not a virus. It’s just your immune system breaking down under stress.”

“I’m Spiderman,” Peter protested. “My immune system isn’t supposed to break down.”

“Well,” Tony said carefully, “it doesn’t appear your immune system got that memo.”

Peter did not look pleased with this answer. “This sucks.”

“I know, kid.” Tony reached out and ruffled Peter’s hair gently. “Think you can keep the painkillers down now?”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a sigh. He took two of them with the last of his ginger ale and lay back down, looking more sulky than anything else, as though his body’s response to stress had personally offended him. “This is bullshit,” he muttered. 

Tony sighed. “We’ll talk to Bruce when he gets in. In the meantime, try and get some rest.”

Peter grumbled. “I slept for like twice as long as I usually do last night.”

Tony suppressed the first thing he wanted to say, which was, _And maybe not sleeping enough is why you’re sick_. Instead he replied, “Do you want me to stay?”

Peter shrugged, glancing away. “You should go hang out with Morgan and Pepper.”

That was not a _no_. That wasn’t even close to a _no_. Even after all this time, Peter was still hesitant to ask for as much of Tony’s time as he wanted, especially when Morgan and Pepper were around. It made Tony a little sad. 

He rubbed Peter’s foot through the blankets. “Or I could stay here with you and we could watch something. Or listen to something. I know this blows, kid, but I don’t mind having some one-on-one time.”

“I don’t mind it, either,” Peter admitted. “Though I’d rather just be not-sick.” He hesitated, biting his lip, and finally said, “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

“You got it, kiddo.” Tony kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the outside of the mattress. Peter rolled onto his side and curled into Tony. He was still too warm, and Tony refolded and adjusted the damp cloth on his forehead. “What do you want to watch?” Tony asked.

Peter shrugged. “Anything’s fine. I just want to zone out for a while.”

“ _Planet Earth_?”

“Sure.”

Tony queued up an episode and used his phone to project it on the bottom of the top bunk. It quickly became clear, however, that Peter wasn’t paying a lot of attention; despite his complaining about having slept an inordinate amount the night before, he was either falling asleep or very close to it. Tony had been up early to get things ready to go, and he found himself drowsing as well, the familiar narration soothing him into closing his eyes. He rested his cheek on top of Peter’s head.

He woke to Bruce gently shaking him awake. “Tony. Hey, Tony.”

“Hmm?” he managed, forcing his eyes open. “Oh. Hey, Bruce.”

“Hi Tony,” Bruce said, smiling in an indulgent way that Tony was all too used to these days. God help him, the people in his life all seemed to think he was _cute_ or something. 

“You have a good trip out?”

“I did,” Bruce said. “I hope May and Happy are coming the old-fashioned way, because the landing pad is getting a bit tight with two Quinjets.”

They’d have to do something about that if they bought the place. “Yeah, they’re flying commercial. They get in tomorrow morning.” Tony sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Kid. Pete. Can you wake up for me? Bruce is here.”

Peter moaned softly. “I feel like... hot garbage...”

“I know,” Tony said sympathetically. He fished his phone out from where it’d fallen while they’d both been napping and checked Peter’s temperature and blood pressure. His temperature was holding steady, and his blood pressure had risen slightly, but not enough to ease Tony’s worry. “Come on, kiddo. Eyes open.”

Peter opened his eyes with a put-upon sigh and looked at Bruce. “Hi.”

“Hi, Peter,” Bruce said, kneeling down by the bed. Bruce had a way of making himself much smaller than he should have been able to, considering his size. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot. Garbage.”

Bruce chuckled. “Right, sorry.” He glanced up at Tony. “Mind giving us a few minutes?” 

“Sure,” Tony said. “You need anything, Peter? Think you could eat something?”

Peter looked distinctly unenthused. “Maybe some toast?” 

“You got it.” Tony ruffled Peter’s hair and climbed off the bed. He pulled the door to the bedroom shut behind him. 

Rhodey and Pepper were ensconced in lounge chairs on the expansive deck, watching Morgan play in the shallow end of the pool. One of them—probably Pepper—had already broken out a bottle of champagne, which chilled in a bucket of ice beside their lounge chairs. A pitcher of orange juice sat on a side table, and the two of them were drinking mimosas out of clear plastic cups.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey greeted him, and got up to give him a hug. “How’s Peter?”

“Sick and miserable,” Tony sighed. He sat down in the chair next to Pepper’s and reached over to casually steal a sip of her mimosa.

“You can have your own, you know,” she said, taking it back rather possessively.

“I have a sick kid to take care of,” Tony replied, hand to his chest in feigned indignation. “I can’t have a mimosa.”

“But you can steal mine?”

“It doesn’t count if I steal yours.”

Rhodey snorted out a laugh. Morgan looked up and yelled, “Daddy! Mommy and me went walking on the beach and found seashells!” She climbed out of the pool, grabbed a bucket, and dragged it over.

It was half full of shells and a few rocks that she’d deemed of special interest. “Uncle Bruce said we could try and figure out what kind of shells they are,” she said, carefully dusting sand off one of them. She sat down on the end of Tony’s chair. “After he makes sure Peter is okay. Peter is sick _again_?” she added, frowning at Tony.

“I’m afraid so. But he’ll probably be better by tomorrow, and we’ve got plenty of time.” Tony glanced at his watch and decided he should make the toast he’d promised. “I’ll be right back, okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, already distracted by her shells. Tony stole one more sip from Pepper’s glass—she glared at him half-heartedly—and went inside.

The service that had stocked the kitchen had been thorough. Tony toasted two pieces of bread and smeared them with a thin layer of butter, while taking a quick survey for other food they might feed Peter. They were supposed to grill steaks and burgers that night and roast s’mores over the firepit on the pool deck. It appeared that Peter would be having canned vegetable soup.

The kid was right. This sucked. 

Tony knocked lightly at Peter’s door. Peter called for him to come in, and he eased the door open. “Toast, as requested,” Tony announced. Bruce was sitting cross legged next to the bed; Tony sat up at the head beside Peter and handed him the plate. 

Peter stared mournfully at it. “I hate everything about this.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony said, gently rubbing the back of Peter’s neck. Peter took a bite of toast and chewed it carefully. Once he’d swallowed and taken the second bite, Tony looked at Bruce. “So what’s the prognosis, doc?”

Bruce smiled at him reassuringly. “The prognosis is just fine if Peter starts taking better care of himself.”

“I _do_ take care of myself,” Peter argued through a mouthful of toast. “I keep the same hours everyone else does. I eat better than most of the people in my dorm. Most of the time, anyway. I definitely exercise.”

“The same hours as everyone else is––what? Four or five hours of sleep per night?”

Peter shrugged. “I sleep in on the weekends.”

“Current research indicates that you can’t really make-up for lost sleep that way,” Bruce told him. “It’s possible you’re still growing, and even if you’re not, your powers place an enormous demand on your body. You get certain benefits in exchange, but you might not be able to get away with the things that other people get away with.”

“That’s so unfair,” Peter said, with an unusual hint of a whine in his voice.

“Maybe,” Bruce said with a shrug, “but that doesn’t change the fact that it appears to be true. And frankly, I don’t think it’s just about hours of sleep per night or number of calories per day.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked. He still had his hand on the back of Peter’s neck and was sweeping his thumb back and forth across it. 

Bruce sighed. “It’s not just the physical strain, though that’s not helping. It’s the amount of psychological stress that you’re under. You took an extra class last semester, didn’t you?”

“I had to,” Peter protested. “I’m still trying to decide between chemical and bio engineering, and in order to do bio, I need the full intro sequence. Besides, I was barely going out as Spiderman at all, I had way more free time than I did in high school.”

“Yeah, and the point of that was for you to make friends and take care of yourself,” Tony said. “That’s why I made you promise not to get a job your first year.”

“I got it done, didn’t I?” Peter replied with a frown. “And with perfect grades both semesters. What else do you want from me?”

Tony fought the urge to either roll his eyes or strangle his kid. “I want you to not collapse in a heap the second you get out from underneath all the stress.”

“Do you think I enjoy this?” Peter returned. “This _sucks_. I don’t want to be stuck in bed like an invalid on our vacation. But I can’t just _not work_. I have shit to do.”

“Peter,” Bruce said, before Tony had the chance to respond, “no one is saying you shouldn’t work, and certainly no one is saying that your work this year wasn’t excellent. I wouldn’t have recommended you for a job in Dr. Giles’s lab if it wasn’t. But it isn’t healthy to work yourself to the point where you get sick whenever you have downtime. If you don’t want it to happen, you might need to make some changes.”

“Like what?” Peter asked. “More sleep, better food?”

“That’s only part of it,” Bruce said. “Like I said, it’s psychological stress, too. That means having reasonable expectations of yourself and being... well, I’m hardly one to give advice in this area, but being _kinder_ to yourself. Have you thought about sticking to a standard credit load, especially if you’re also going to be working?”

Peter shook his head. “No one sticks to a standard credit load in engineering. Tony didn’t,” he added, looking at him. 

“No, I didn’t,” Tony admitted. “I also had completely crazy expectations put on me, courtesy of Howard. I don’t want that for you, kid. Your health is more important than anything else. I don’t like seeing you so sick.”

Peter pressed his lips together, looking mutinous. But then, after a moment, he seemed to deflate. He tipped over so he rested against Tony’s shoulder. Tony rescued the plate of half-eaten toast and set it off to the side. “I don’t like it either,” Peter said.

Tony threaded his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I know you don’t. So maybe try what Bruce is suggesting?” 

“Maybe,” Peter said, with a palpable reluctance that did not fill Tony with confidence that he actually would. 

“Unfortunately, there’s just no easy fix for this,” Bruce said. “You have to actually change your relationship to work. The habits you develop now are likely to follow you for the rest of your career. It’s not going to get easier, Peter––you’re only going to have more demands on your time as you get older.”

“That’s true, kid,” Tony said. “Unless you land a really sweet stay-at-home dad gig like me.”

Peter smiled, a little reluctantly. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Bruce said. 

Tony rubbed lightly at Peter’s scalp with his fingers. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Better, I guess,” Peter said. “Not so nauseous.”

“Want to eat the rest of your toast out on the pool deck? There is a lounge chair with your name on it if you can stand up without passing out.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed with a wan smile. 

They had to pause once Peter was on his feet while he leaned dizzily on Tony for a few seconds. But it passed, and they managed to shuffle out to the deck. Bruce immediately got waylaid by Morgan, who insisted that he come down to the beach and help her look for more shells. 

“Hey kid,” Rhodey greeted Peter. “You feeling better?”

“Sort of,” Peter said, dropping down to sit in one of the lounge chairs. Tony handed him his plate and went inside to get a throw to tuck over him, even though it was pretty warm out. Peter put up with the fussing and didn’t even roll his eyes, a sure sign that he was still feeling lousy. 

“You need fluids, kid,” Tony said. “Want a virgin mimosa?”

Peter, still nibbling around the edges of his toast, raised an eyebrow at him dubiously. “Isn’t that just orange juice?”

“And seltzer.”

“Sure, why not?” Peter said, curling up under his blanket. 

Tony made him a fizzy orange juice and handed it to him. Then he pulled a chair up between Pepper and Peter and put his feet up on Peter’s chair, next to his legs. He reached out and took Pepper’s hand, threading their fingers together. The sun was shining, and the breeze off the ocean was just the right side of cool. Peter looked like he was about to fall asleep, lazing in the sun like a cat. 

Tony looked at Pepper. Pepper smiled back, appearing utterly content. 

Tony quietly shot his lawyer an email, telling him to get the paperwork started. The foyer might be a bit much, but he’d put up with a lot to make Pepper smile like that as often as possible. 

By the time May and Happy arrived the next morning in a car from the airport, Peter had bounced back. Tony watched as he bounded over to hug first May, then Happy, exuding health and energy. It was hard to believe that the same kid had spent the previous afternoon sleeping under a blanket on a lounge chair, before eating half a can of vegetable soup and staggering off to bed by nine o’clock. 

“Well, at least it doesn’t keep him down for long,” Bruce remarked, coming to stand by Tony on the beach. “I remember collapsing for days at a time, sometimes even a week if I’d really been hard on myself.”

“It was only ever two or three days for me,” Tony said. “What are the odds you think he’ll change anything?”

Bruce shrugged. “I mean, I never did. Not until, well...”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Not until the Snap. Not until Morgan. By then, Tony was at the top of his game in not just one career but several. He’d had nothing left to prove, and most of what had felt important to him before the Snap just didn’t matter anymore. Someday, that might happen to Peter––though Tony hoped like hell he came to that revelation by way of less trauma––but for now it seemed unlikely. The kid was too ambitious, and it probably seemed worth the trade-off, however much he complained about it.

Maybe, for now, that was okay. And maybe––just maybe––there was something Tony could do for him in the meantime.


	4. Winter Break, Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for the beta!

They spent the Christmas of Peter’s sophomore year in Malibu at Tony and Pepper’s newly acquired and even more newly renovated house. Tony flew out ahead of everyone else so he could get his workshop set up, as well as a head start in wiring FRIDAY into the house. 

Peter arrived twenty-four hours after Tony did, fresh off of finals. Tony had barely seen him since he’d left for Cambridge in August. In the end, despite the advice of literally every adult in his life, he’d taken an extra class that fall. Having finally decided upon bio-engineering, he was pursuing a second major in philosophy––with a focus in bioethics, Peter had informed Bruce pointedly, when Bruce had started to question this. Bruce had gaped like a fish, flushed an even deeper shade of green than usual, and conceded the point. Peter had also been working fifteen hours a week in the lab run by Bruce’s friend Dr. Giles and by all accounts he was on his way to having his first scientific paper submitted for publication by the end of the academic year.

Tony was proud of him, not that he’d expected anything less. But it was a pride tinged with worry and, if he was honest, a little sadness. He’d known he’d get to watch Peter soar, but he hadn’t thought he’d be watching from quite so far away. 

All in all, Tony would have been willing to bet DUM-E they were heading for a crash. But he didn’t say this to Peter, who’d started to react defensively to any sort of comment about his work habits. Instead he just scheduled twenty-four hours at the house without anyone but the two of them around. If Peter was going to go down, at least he wouldn’t have an audience this time.

Tony picked Peter up from the airport himself and took him to dinner at a Oaxacan place in Santa Monica where they made guacamole tableside with a mortar and pestle. Peter was a little tired and subdued, but he inhaled a plate of mole enchiladas and one of tamales, plus an entire second order of guac, while Tony nibbled at his chicken tacos. 

“So no one else is getting here till the day after tomorrow?” Peter asked, when Tony informed him of the itinerary. “Why?”

Tony shrugged. “Thought you might want to help me wire in FRIDAY. Unless you swore off anything electrical or mechanical when you went over to the darker, squishier side of engineering.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “ _Yes_ ,” he said, with a flattering amount of enthusiasm and just a little bit of awe. It was nice to know he could still impress the kid after all this time. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. If Peter didn’t fall prey to his usual bout of leisure sickness, then they really would finish wiring FRIDAY into the house. It was a good project for the two of them, and Tony hoped they’d get to do it. He just wasn’t holding his breath.

Peter chatted about it eagerly for the first ten minutes of the drive back to the house, but then he seemed to run out of energy like a car running out of gas. By the time they pulled the car into the driveway, the kid barely had his eyes open. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he insisted as Tony chivvied him into the house. “Let’s get started.”

“Okay, first rule of working with any kind of wiring is this—only do it if you’re awake,” Tony told him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Go to bed, Pete. You’re on East Coast time, so you’ll be up bright and early and we can get started then.”

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but an enormous yawn took him by surprise. “Ugh,” he declared when it was done. “Fine.”

He stumbled off to bed. Tony worked for a couple of hours, until his own jet lag caught up with him, forcing him to take his own advice.

Peter wasn’t stirring yet when Tony got up around eight. He swam laps in the pool for close to an hour—he had genuinely missed having a pool and not even realized it until he had one again—and ate a breakfast of eggs, fruit, and coffee on the pool deck while checking in on the state of the world via his StarkPad. 

Something else he had missed during his years-long sojourn in the Northeast: _al fresco_ dining in December. The morning air at the very edge of the Pacific wasn’t warm, but with a hoodie it was perfectly pleasant.

He was just starting to think about diving back into FRIDAY’s wiring when Peter stumbled out of the house. He wore an oversized Stark Industries sweatshirt over his pajamas with the hood pulled up over his curls. He collapsed onto the double-wide lounge chair Tony was occupying and let out a low whine, smashing his face into a decorative cushion. 

“Good morning,” Tony said wryly. “You want coffee? Breakfast? I have fruit here—the pineapple is really good, and I could scramble you some eggs.”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head and swallowing thickly, “I definitely do not want any of those things.”

Tony eyed him warily. “Are you going to puke? Because if you are, aim for the tile and for the love of God, avoid the pool. Better yet, there’s a bathroom right inside the house.”

“I... don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I feel like death. And I think I’m running a fever.”

Tony grabbed his phone to check the data from Peter’s biometrics tracker. “Yep. 101.6.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “Fucking figures,” he muttered darkly. 

“Well, think of it this way,” Tony said, stretching out like he intended to stay—as, in fact, he did. “If past experience is any indication, by the time everyone gets in tomorrow, you’ll be back in tip-top condition. Bruce might not even say he told you so.”

Peter gave a skeptical huff. He pulled his hands inside his sweatshirt and rolled over so he was melded against Tony’s side. The only part of him that was visible was his bare feet. Tony was briefly overcome with affection for his amazing, dysfunctional, brilliant, neurotic, workaholic kid. He draped an arm across Peter’s back and rubbed a hand slowly back and forth between his shoulder blades.

He thought Peter might have fallen back to sleep. Tony was thinking about a nap himself, sprawled out in the weak winter sun with his kid curled up against him, the smell of sea salt in the air, and the sound of waves crashing below the house. Then Peter stirred, lifting his head and giving Tony a look of deepest betrayal. “Wait,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? This is why you had me come in two days early. It wasn’t so we could work on FRIDAY together. It was because you knew I was going to get sick!”

Tony raised an eyebrow at the accusation in Peter’s voice. “I had my suspicions.”

“That’s—that’s—" Peter made a noise of frustration and flopped back down on his back, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s what?” Tony asked.

“ _Really annoying_ ,” Peter said, outraged. And then, begrudgingly, “And also really nice. Like, _really_ nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Tony said.

Peter snorted. “Sure.”

“I’m always nice to you,” Tony amended.

Peter looked up at him, eyes a little too bright in a face that was a little too flushed. “Yeah. You are,” he said, with such open fondness that it made Tony’s palms sweat with anxiety. He rolled over and settled his head against Tony’s hip. Tony pushed Peter’s hoodie back just enough so he could sink his fingers into Peter’s hair. Peter made a contented noise that reminded Tony of nothing so much as a cat’s purr. 

It was a memory Tony would file away for the days when he didn’t hear from Peter at all, for future breaks when Peter didn’t come home. He’d file it away for any time he had to remind himself that his kid loved him, and no growing amount of independence was ever going to change that. It was a beautiful, perfect slice of time.

It lasted four minutes. 

Peter sat up abruptly. “Pete?” Tony asked with concern.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Peter said, and bolted inside the house. 

Tony sighed and got to his feet to go after him. 

This kid. _This kid._

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a fun one. Next up: do you guys want the world's most evil fill for the "reuniting" square or something fluffy for the "hurt/comfort" square? You're getting both eventually, it's just a matter of in what order. This was fluff, so I'm inclined to go for the angst...


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